


The Battle of Award 41

by cosmicstring



Category: A Hat in Time (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22571350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicstring/pseuds/cosmicstring
Summary: For a reason he cannot understand, the Conductor is beginning to lose his passion for victory. At a bar, he finds himself drunkenly ranting about this to a stranger he finds oddly familiar.
Relationships: The Conductor & DJ Grooves (A Hat in Time)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 74





	The Battle of Award 41

"...And the winner of the 41st Annual Bird Movie awards is... the Conductor!"

For the past 40 years The Conductor had been taking part in the annual Bird Movie Awards, he had never once tasted defeat. He was unbeatable, and he took great pride in his perfect track record. From the day he was but a wee lad, watching old westerns on the quaint little TV in his living room, he had dreamed of stardom. He wished to make the movies he had loved as a child, and to be known the world over as the greatest director who ever lived. Now, here he was, living what he had once believed was only a fantasy made up by his young mind. The annual Bird Movie Awards were almost _everything_ to him, not including his beloved train or his own children, of course. Each time he received his precious first place trophy, he was ecstatic at his victory. He had always accepted the glittering symbol of the defeat of his rival, the detestable _DJ Grooves_ , with a huge jagged smile on his face. That was how it went, the Conductor as happy as ever, as sore of a winner as he was with everything else. Every single year. Of course, being undefeatable in an area such as this was not an easy task. The Conductor certainly put effort into his movies, he has a passion for his craft, as any self-respecting director does, and it definitely wasn't in his nature to be _lazy_ . It was just, he needed some extra precautions in place to ensure his victory and protect his reputation, that's all. The Conductor was very involved in the goings on in the industry, behind the scenes, finding himself pulling the strings of some very powerful people. He told himself it wasn't much, just bribes and a little blackmail to nudge the competition in his favour, and hey, he wasn't the only one benefiting from his win streak. His movies were extremely popular, mainly from people wanting to see why exactly the Conductor won every year. The Conductor brought them their customers, and in return, he got his precious trophies. The Conductor didn't see himself as a bad person for this, he just wasn't above doing _a little lying, a little cheating, and a little stealing_ to get what he wanted.

The 41st Bird Movie Award ceremony felt different. From the moment his name was called by the announcer, no, from the moment he stepped into this room, he could feel the unfamiliar wrongness of his emotional state. He felt… bored. Why did he feel _bored?_ This was the most important day of his career, and he couldn't stop his mind from wandering to trivial matters like what he should make for dinner tonight. When the announcer called his name, as he always did, the Conductor had to be snapped back into reality. He was spacing out on stage, bored at the annual Bird Movie Awards! Was there something wrong with him?! Even as he accepted the award, he could sense the tension in the air. Why did he feel so strongly that something was not right? Nothing had gone differently at all! He won, yet again, and DJ Grooves lost. He was up on stage, holding his award, looking down at all his adoring fans. He _won_ . This was supposed to make him happy, this _always_ made him happy. Why wasn't he happy now?

"Eh - thank ye! Thank ye, glad ye, uh, liked the movie! Haha!" The Conductor was smiling, but not as wide as he usually did. He just felt awkward, standing there with everyone staring at him. Should he say something more? What did he usually say? The crowd was cheering, but he felt as if they were somehow… judging him? The Conductor decided to say nothing, instead taking his bow in silence. As he did so, he discreetly glanced behind himself. There, being escorted offstage by his underlings, his head held low, was DJ Grooves. The Conductor glared at him as he left, so desperately trying to feel the schadenfreude he knew he was capable of. If anything could get him excited, it was seeing that low-life peck neck DJ Grooves miserable! However, as he stood, he felt the familiar flame of spite die down within him. Watching DJ Grooves' pathetic loss made him feel… _absolutely nothing._

This was bad. If he couldn't even bring himself to feel _spite,_ there was definitely something wrong here. What exactly it was, the Conductor didn't know. If he had to take a guess, it was probably this awards ceremony. The audience wasn't putting enough heart into their cheering. He deserved much better, after all the work he put into his legacy! What an ungrateful bunch of peck necks. He turned his head back to face them quickly, realizing he was looking behind himself longer than what would appear to be normal, and plastered the fake smile back on his face. He felt immensely annoyed now, though he could still not find the words to say anything more. There was a lump in his throat and he felt all mixed up. That was their fault too. He wanted a better awards ceremony next year - maybe they should make the 42nd trophy in the shape of his face or something. Turning his back, he got off the stage as quickly - yet still with a false air of indifference - as possible.

\---

The Conductor had rationalized that he deserved to treat himself after the disaster of an awards ceremony he just got put through. That's why he had gone to the bar, a dingy little watering hole not too far from the studio, the one he tended to visit when his incompetent crew were particularly getting on his nerves. Drinking took his mind off of things, let him relax a little bit. The Conductor didn't want to gain the reputation of a drunkard, but maybe he came here more often than he should. That was nobody's business. He was never intoxicated on set or at the front of his train, so why did it matter what he did in his spare time? Today, he just wanted to get blackout drunk, and then maybe he'd go home and sleep for a week. He worked so hard! He deserved a break. The bartender, a sparrow looking fella with a small frame, kind of like an express owl, greeted him when he took his seat. He recognized the Conductor, though it's not like anyone around here _didn't_ recognize the Conductor, as not only was he famous for both his movies and conducting the only train on the planet, he was a regular customer. He was probably a large chunk of this bar's main source of funding. Sure, it got business all right, (it was especially popular among express owls late to work enough times to be fired from their jobs), but nobody spent money here like the Conductor did. If there's one thing his manufactured fame got him, it was wealth, and lots of it. The Conductor got nervous glances from the other patrons as he took his seat on a stool, but the bartender gave him a warm smile, like an old friend would. Not only was the Conductor a good source of money, he was also a particularly entertaining drunk, especially when he'd rant about whatever was pissing him off at the moment.

The bartender set down a glass he'd been wiping with a cloth. "Good to see you, Conductor. The usual?"

The Conductor rolled his eyes, though the gesture was lost given his eyes aren't visible. The scowl on his face deepened at the realization that to get what he wanted, he'd have to interact with someone. "Ye, whot'evar. Make it a double, will ya?"

"Sure thing." The bartender said, starting on mixing the Conductor's drink of choice. He came here enough the man practically had it memorized, which was good for the Conductor's sake. Less talking, more drinking. He was going to need a _lot_ of alcohol to get through this one.

\---

"Ey, laddie! I need another one over 'ere!" The Conductor shouted, his voice wavering in the sort of way only heavy intoxication did to him. Empty glasses were strewn around on the counter where he sat, an obvious cue that he had drank _way_ too much tonight. The bartender gave him a concerned look. Sure, the Conductor tended to drink a lot, but this was getting to be a bit absurd. The responsible thing to do would be to kick him out, the bartender was well aware of this bar's policies. However… this was the Conductor. If anything, being drunk only made him _quicker_ to anger, and everyone knew how the Conductor tended to act when he got angry.

...At this point, the Conductor was so far gone he probably wouldn't even notice if he started serving him water.

"Coming right up."

The Conductor had been eerily quiet tonight. Usually by now he'd be in the middle of some incomprehensible story, but he seemed to be strangely lost in thought today. The truth was, even with alcohol in his system, the Conductor couldn't drown out that bizarre empty feeling inside of him. When getting drunk didn't help quell his insecurity, he just decided to drink more until it started working. It was not working. All being intoxicated did was prevent him from thinking about how he felt rationally, causing his mind to swim in all sorts of bizarre thoughts. _His connections must have been severed somehow, someone must have blackmail on him, DJ Grooves must be planning his assassination._ The Conductor sighed heavily into his refilled glass, trying to stop his impending headache by gazing absentmindedly at his surroundings. The bar had been nearly empty for some time now, save for a few lingering patrons here and there. The usual white noise of a bar setting had been reduced to sparse idle chatter, and the quiet air was doing nothing to quell the numb throb of the Conductor's mind. Had he ever stayed out this late before? He could not recall ever seeing this place in this state before, though he was also too drunk to recall how to spell his own name, so maybe his past experiences had just slipped his mind. He pressed his glass against his mouth, downing it without even tasting with a tip of his head. (It was just tap water, but he was unable to tell.)

The Conductor was about to ask for another drink, when the sound of a door opening caught his attention. Usually, he wouldn't have noticed a new person walking into the bar, but with how quiet it was and how high-strung he felt, the sound was like a gunshot. He turned his head, feeling a bit nauseous from the movement, to get a look at the bar's newest patron, simple curiosity more than anything else. He did not recognize the man who walked in through the doorway, though for some reason he felt like he should, somehow. He didn't understand why he felt that way, he had never met a large penguin with small, beady, tired eyes behind thick prescription glasses. The penguin wore an unassuming outfit, a light jacket over a white t-shirt and jeans, the jacket most likely worn to combat the slight chill from outside. His afro was large and puffy, the sight of it giving the Conductor that nagging feeling of deja-vu. He was too drunk to remember where he'd seen a penguin with that hairstyle before, however. Must have been on TV or something. The stranger took his seat at the bar, a stool down from the Conductor, not acknowledging the other bird (?) at all. He greeted the bartender and requested a drink. A martini, on the rocks.

Usually, the Conductor preferred not to interact with other patrons at bars. The few times he attempted to do so in the past, he had gotten into little "disagreements" that resulted in lifetime bans from certain establishments. Still, his bad track record aside, this mysterious stranger had caught his eye, and he was too drunk to care about any lingering social anxiety he may have. Barely even thinking about what he was doing, he moved closer to the penguin who was now sipping a martini and staring off into space, unaware of the Conductor's rapidly approaching presence.

"Aye, laddie! Nice night for ah drink, ain't it?" the Conductor said, nudging him a bit and causing the penguin to almost spit out his martini. He whipped his head around to face the Conductor, the tired look in his eyes seeming to grow at the sight of him, like he had aged fifty years just from looking at the other man. The Conductor had a big goofy smile on his face, completely oblivious to the other's discomfort. The Conductor usually had a quite intimidating look to him, despite his lack of height. However, when he smiled, which he tended to do a lot more when intoxicated, he just looked silly. "Bartender! I'll 'ave what he's havin'!" The Conductor shouted. The bartender nodded his head, fully intending on serving the Conductor more tap water in case he was the one who would be drinking it.

"Darling, do you want something from me?" The penguin asked in a voice the Conductor, through his alcohol fogged mind, found extremely familiar.

"What? Me? Nooo, I already got evrythin' I want, lad! Me train, me trophies…" The Conductor picked up his own 'martini', as if he were presenting it. "...me alcohol. Yep, this be the life! What could I possibly want from a peck neck like yerself?"

The penguin just shook his head, turning away from the Conductor as he took a sip from his own drink. He had assumed the Conductor was buying him another drink for some reason and was about to refuse it, but the Conductor was just drinking the martini he ordered himself. Typical.

The Conductor frowned slightly. "Not a talker, aye lad? That's fine." He turned away as well, a strange feeling that was becoming all too familiar to him beginning to creep up in his chest. Still, even when he was drunk enough to pass out on the floor, he still felt that _emptiness_. He sipped from his glass, looking back at the penguin.

"Though… I guess there is somethin' I do want. Nothin' you can do 'bout it."

The penguin looked back at him through his peripheral vision. "And that is…?"

The Conductor spoke considerably softer, a strange thing to see coming from him of all people. "I… I got everythin' I want, but it's not makin' me happy anymore. I dunno why, peck neck, but the awards ceremonies… the trophies… the fame… it all feels hollow." The Conductor looked up at the ceiling, speaking into the air more than he was speaking to the stranger sitting next to him. "Can ye believe that? All of this is 'ere to make me happy, and it ain't doin' that anymore! Bunch ov worthless garbage if ye ask me."

The penguin gave him an odd look, halfway between anger and pity. He settled on anger, regarding the Conductor with an air of contempt. "Really, darling? You've won so much, now you're _bored_ of it?"

"I hafta win, it's me career we’re talkin' 'bout, lad. I know I'm gonna win next year, and the year after that, and the year after that. I'm gonna be winn' 'til the day I drop dead!" The Conductor laughed, though his laugh trailed off into awkward silence. "...'til the day I drop dead, aye…"

The other man looked downright offended, glaring at the Conductor with a look of disgust only a lifelong rival could give. Which was weird to the Conductor, mainly because he believed he had only met this man five minutes ago. "Oh, poor _darling_ , it must be _so_ hard to go up there and win every year." The penguin said, sarcasm dripping from his words like the edge of a bloodied knife. "You really think I'm going to feel sorry for you? Have you ever even considered how I feel? I put my heart and soul into my movies, only to have you win every year without even having to _try!"_

The Conductor was taken aback by the stranger's aggressive response. Usually, if someone dared to talk to him like this he'd fire back with his own angry ranting, (or, with how drunk he was at the moment, the blade of a kitchen knife,) but he felt strangely subdued at this moment. He sipped from his drink again, opting to stare at the floor instead of saying anything at all. He could barely think through the haze his mind was in right now. They sat in silence for a few moments, neither of them daring to say a word. The penguin appeared to be embarrassed by his own outburst as well, the awkwardness he felt painted all over his face. So, they remained quiet. Eventually, it was the Conductor who broke the silence, now sporting an ignorant smile on his face as he seemed to completely forget this stranger had just yelled at him. It was also possible that he hadn't even been paying attention when it happened. "Ya make movies, laddie?" he asked, genuine interest in his voice.

The penguin gave him a bewildered look, like the Conductor's query was the stupidest thing he had ever heard in his life. His mouth was agape, but he formed no words, just opting to stare him down. He was desperately trying to figure out if the Conductor had asked a sincere question, or if this was just an attempt to mock him. It was impossible to tell, especially with how drunk Conductor most certainly was. Finally, he gave his response, his tone of voice gentler than it had been before. "Yes, darling, I do."

The Conductor laughed again. "Ah, an aspiring director! Such a good sight to see new blood around 'ere. Yer movies can't be that bad, laddie. I've seen bad movies, believe me. Maybe I'll be handin' over me keys to tae studio to ye sometime! After I retire, ov course."

The penguin didn't know how to respond to this. He finished his drink with a final swig, staring into the empty glass for a few seconds. He held an awkward expression on his face, like he had just tasted something sour. He looked up to meet the Conductor's expectant gaze. "...Thanks?"

"Yer welcome, lad! Never give up on yer dreams and all that stupid stuff people spout to ya rookie peck necks." The Conductor finished his own drink, setting the glass down on the counter. "Ye know what, maybe I'll look to takin' a break from show biz after I win me 42nd annual Bird Movie Award. I could use some alone time with me train, without havin' tae worry 'bout shootin' another darn movie."

"You're… _sure_ you're going to win?"

"I've won 41 peckin' years in a row! I ain't capable ov losin', peck neck."

In a way, the Conductor's words were absolutely true. He was incapable of losing because he made sure of it. The penguin adopted a melancholy look, having put the pieces together long ago but had no evidence to back up his theory. "...Right…"

Another period of silence between the two of them. The Conductor shifted in his seat, now acutely aware of the first place trophy sat in his pocket. He hadn't even bothered to take it home before he came to the bar, in fact, he found that he didn't even care about it anymore. It no longer gave him any satisfaction to own, just a gold hunk of junk that had outlived its purpose in his life. He removed it from the pocket of his coat, focusing on the way the dim lighting of the bar reflected off of its glossy surface. There was a point in his life, which felt so long ago now, where holding one of these _meant_ something to him. That was back when he was younger, a fresh face to the movie business scene. He remembered the rush of adrenaline when he first claimed one of these trophies for his own. The elation from winning _fair and square._ No owed favours, no dark secrets, no industry built around his name. He had been chasing that high for so long, trying to force everything to fall into place. It had worked, he had kept everything exactly the same as it had been all those years ago. He was still making westerns, those westerns were still winning awards, and his rival was still losing. Despite his hard work at making sure nothing ever changed, it would never make him feel anything ever again. It was just business to him, and it was slowly making him lose his mind. Or, the more logical reason as to why this trophy made him feel weird, was because the incompetents at the academy aren't doing their jobs properly. There was no problem with him, both his work and his mental state were absolutely fine. It was all their faults, not giving him proper awards ceremonies and making him work so… _physically_ close to that crooked DJ Grooves! (At the very least, he didn't have to see Grooves in his personal life. The bar was thankfully Grooves-free from what he could see.)

No matter how hard the Conductor tried to think of an explanation, that didn't change the fact that looking at this trophy made him feel weirdly… _sad_. That was the complete opposite emotion it was supposed to give him. This trophy was absolutely worthless to him, and it insulted him to even have it in his presence.

"Aye, laddie." The Conductor called, looking up at the stranger. "Ye want this thing?"

"...Huh?"

The Conductor repeated himself. "I said, do ye want this thing? I got loads of 'em already, I don't need this one." He set the trophy on the counter, sliding it over to the stranger who sat beside him. "I don't care what ye do with it, just take it. Maybe ye can sell it on eBird or somethin'."

The penguin stared at it for a few moments, then at him, clearly shocked into silence. "...Darling, what are you doing?"

The Conductor furrowed his brow. "I'm givin' ye a gift outta the kindness ov me heart, that's what I'm doin', peck neck. Now take it before I change me mind."

The penguin, his hands shaking a little bit picked up the trophy, still staring at it with wide eyes. He looked like a deer in the headlights, completely frozen with a dead-eyed stare. "I…" the words caught in his throat, caught in between excitement and horror. "...You… _darling…_ "

"What? Ye got somethin' tae say tae me?"

The penguin composed himself, sighing heavily. "No, I, thank you, Conductor. I'll… treasure it."

"Ya, of course ye peckin' will." The Conductor hopped off of his stool, stumbling a bit as he struggled to keep himself upright. He was still thinking about what to do about his feelings towards the awards ceremonies. He obviously didn't feel guilty about 'cheating', as he had nothing to feel guilty for. However, maybe, just maybe, next year he'd take a break from meddling with the academy. His movies were great, he didn't need help from a bunch of old peck necks to win his stupid trophies. He was fully capable of doing this on his own, if anything, those idiots were holding him back.

"The 42nd trophy is mine, peck neck, don't go askin' me for that one." the Conductor grumbled under his breath. He knew the 42nd trophy would be his, but not because of his influence over the industry, because his movies were objectively better than his rival's and that was that. Turning his back, he halfheartedly dug through his pockets to find his wallet in order to pay the remainder of what he owed to the bar. With only minor difficulty, he slid the payment (twenty dollars too much, but the bartender wasn't going to say anything) across the counter, and he stumbled out of the bar, leaving the penguin alone with the 41st trophy.

"...Maybe I should call him a cab." The penguin - _DJ Grooves -_ mumbled to himself. He ordered another martini in the meantime, content to sit alone with his thoughts.


End file.
